Author's Note of Random Randomness: I'm listening to Doctor Who music, and it makes me want to write angsty Star Wars poems. I literally have no idea why. Shouldn't it make me want to write angsty Doctor Who poems? Go figure.

So, here's to an oft-neglected side of Obi-Wan. A bit less fearless, sadder. Or maybe that's just me listening to the music.

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The Circle

My mind rebels against death, but when I must prove myself with actions,
I am willing.

Yet.

There is a dangerous symmetry in this all.

I fear it.

Fearing nothing physical-
Not Vader's mask,
Nor the darkness enshrouding,
Nor the Force enveloping him like a hungry prison-
I fear the situation itself.

Nineteen years ago, the same.
A master, an apprentice.
"The circle is now complete," he says.
Too complete, the parallels exact.

I fear the end of everything.
For with our lives mapped out like in a story,
Then what is left but to follow the wills of the Force?
What is left but nothingness?

This used to comfort me,
Letting the Force flow through me
Like water through a conduit.
But after years in a desert, a pipe may become rusty and break.

And rust may trace patterns of age
Form hills and valleys across the tunnels of the mind
Create its own unique personality of decay.
But what personality?

I expected the decay to make a difference.
But everything is the same in its exact opposite.

For the wild lava of his past nature
Is replaced the hard metal of his current conditioning.
For the muscle so strong in us both
Is replaced
One caged by unnatural technology
One caged by natural decay

The water of the Force is trickling out
Running out of original patterns
To send through a dying, half-blocked pipe
Stuck with only archetype
And futile fairytale

But this is reality
And I have seen so many dead
So so so many
And I am about to join them.

Honesty: I don't know what I feel about this.
There is no emotion, there is peace.
Or is there only confusion?

Force, the parallels again!
The irony of precise opposites
For I see Luke's face filled with wisdom of understanding
For a nanosecond across the room
And for that moment of my confusion and his peace
He is old and I am young.

But before he even realizes his epiphany
He forgets it.

Then the Force shifts,
The image changes,
And he is furious,
Like his father,
Screaming into the silence
Of a black hole.
And his father is silent and unknowing of his son

As I raise a lightsaber as it must happen as it's happened before, and will again and again AND AGAIN AND AGAIN,

the apprentice supplants the master.

By this
euphemism,
of course,
my students,
Luke,
Anakin,
I mean,
as I die.